


Academy Days

by LieutenantSaavik



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy-era, F/F, Slow Burn, Vulcans don't talk shit (or do they?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantSaavik/pseuds/LieutenantSaavik
Summary: Ilia, on a bet, decides to see if she can make the strange half-Vulcan smile.





	1. Vulcans Don't Talk Shit

2270, Autumn, Residence Complex 3

 

A Deltan girl places her lunch tray across from Saavik’s and gives a small sigh, stretching her thin wrists up over above her head and then yawning deeply. She looks from side to side, likely making sure nobody is making a scene about a Deltan sitting with a Vulcan. Then she before places her chin into her hand and meets Saavik’s eyes directly. “Those Vulcans off to your left are talking shit about you.”

“Vulcans don’t talk shit,” is Saavik’s automatic response. Then she blinks. “What did they say?”

“That you’re some sort of hybrid. I came over myself to see if it’s true.” The girl’s Standard is uniquely accented and it sounds oddly musical to Saavik’s ears, but that doesn’t change the fact that what she’s saying is unkind.

Saavik monitors her breathing and ensures she is controlled before replying. A Deltan -- anyone -- suddenly approaching her to claim Vulcans are ‘talking shit’ is not an experience she is used to. After a moment of deliberation, she decides the best course of action is to encourage the Deltan to speak further, to expose herself to a committing a fallacy. “What do you think?”

“Well, it’s not immediately detectable, if you are.”

“I’m flattered,” Saavik replies emotionlessly.

“I really can’t tell if you are.”

“You’re a Deltan. Of course you can’t.”

“I’m not going to be offended by that.”

Saavik takes a sip of her water. “Advisable.”

“Is there anything that _can_ actually flatter you?”

“Theoretically, a sincerely delivered ‘that was flawlessly logical’ might work on some of the more emotionally susceptible Vulcans,” Saavik muses, turning the idea over in her mind. “But I don’t know of any Vulcans vulnerable to flattery, as our species has no ego.”

“Emotionally susceptible Vulcans?” the girl asks, sounding close to laughter. “What, did they smile in public once?”

“Just because a culture is different does not mean it is ridiculous.”

The Deltan’s smile disappears. “I never meant to imply that it was. I’m sorry to offend you.”

“Offense is a Deltan emotion. I don’t feel it.”

The girl thinks for a moment before speaking again. “You _can’t_ feel it? Or you can but don’t want to?” She takes a breath, as if preparing to deliver a speech, and another smile curves her lips. “It’s Vul _can_ , not Vul _can’t_ , after all.”

She looks at Saavik expectantly, her eyes sparkling. Saavik remains impassive.

“ _Damn_ ,” the girl sighs, and she sounds disappointed. “You really don’t want to smile.”

“You’re on a bet,” Saavik guesses. It’s the only thing that would make sense.

“Yes,” the Deltan replies, but she doesn’t seem at all embarrassed, as if it should be obvious she isn’t speaking to a Vulcan just for fun. “Two of my friends wanted to see if a Deltan could induce a Vulcan to show any emotion at all.”

“Starting a conversation with someone just to prove something to someone else hardly seems logical,” Saavik notes, oddly disgusted in a way that has nothing to do with the unappetising mash on her plate.

“Ah, there’s the magic word.” The girl tilts her head. “Logic. Somehow your entire species forgot that there are things worth having feelings over.” She grins at Saavik to show she means no harm and offers her hand across the table. “I’m Ilia. What’s your name?”

Saavik looks at the hand, then at Ilia’s face, and then to the hand again. She raises an eyebrow. “I know your species has high libido, but even so, this seems a bit sudden.”

Ilia’s face becomes mortified and she whips her hand back down to her side, slamming her knuckle on the edge of the table in the process. “ _Shit_ ,” she hisses vehemently. “I am so sorry. I totally, totally forgot.”

“The two totallies weren’t necessary,” Saavik observes, but she realises to her shock that she’s almost smiling. Forcing even the hint of a curve away from her lips, she leans back slightly and regards Ilia’s features, attempting to get a better read on the only Deltan she’s ever spoken to.

She’s beautiful, with light brown skin, perfectly plucked eyebrows, and long-lashed dark eyes that reflect the harshly artificial cafeteria light at their edges. She’s completely hairless other than her brows and lashes, but her bald head seems to suit her.

“What’s your name?” Ilia asks.

Saavik reminds herself not to be miffed that Ilia took a bet to try to make her show emotion without even knowing her name. “Saavik,” she replies succinctly.

“Saavik?” Ilia asks, and she seems more reserved and academic now, as if her initial curiosity about Saavik has faded some. “I thought all Vulcan female names started with a T and an apostrophe.”

“Most do. I like my name because it falls outside the gender binary.”

“Hm,” says Ilia, sounding almost impressed. “Did you name yourself, then?”

“In a manner of speaking. Saavik is a Romulan name, but I chose to keep it.”

“So you _are_ a hybrid,” Ilia guesses.

Saavik inclines her head. “I am. However, I identify first and foremost with my Vulcan ancestry. I have taken on the Vulcan way of life with pride.”

“Why would you?” Ilia asks, sounding as if she’s trying desperately to understand why anyone would do that.

“I admire logic. I admire the ability to always make the correct decision, unclouded by emotion. I want to be reasonable, rational, and capable.”

“Yes, but you don’t have to throw away emotion to be all those things,” Ilia points out.

“Perhaps, but wouldn’t that make it easier? Besides, I’m never going to ‘throw away emotion,’ as you so intellectually put it. I have no desire to undergo Kolinahr.”

“What’s Kolinahr?” Ilia asks, and Saavik can tell she’s making the effort to pronounce it correctly.

“A Vulcan process through which any remaining emotions are purged.”

“It sounds like some sort of Esper.”

“Esper?”

“Espers are common Deltan abilities that can break the laws of the universe on a personal scale. My mother’s sister, for example, can sense the emotions of those around her when they’re particularly strong.”

The idea of there being a connection between the Deltan race and the Vulcan race is a bit disquieting, since they’re arguably the most polar opposites of all discovered Vulcanoids. Deltans delight in emotion; Vulcans abhor it. Deltans base large swaths of their culture around sex and pleasure; Vulcans only come into heat once every seven years. Deltans favor touch; Vulcans consider it an intrusion. Saavik makes it a mental note. “Interesting,” she says.

“Yes. And so are you. I’ve never met a half-Vulcan before.”

“We’re quite experimental.”

“How do you mean?”

Saavik wonders how much to tell Ilia and how much to keep for herself. She is an intensely private person, but the fact that the Deltan is curious about her means something. She wonders if she could possibly have a friend by the end of the conversation. It would be most unusual, but it’s an outcome worth trying for.

“I was created as an attempt to merge Vulcan and Romulan DNA,” she says slowly, studying Ilia’s face. “To try to bring out the best in both species. All the others like me died, but I had the good fortune to be rescued by Mr. Spock.”

Ilia sits back in her chair and takes a bite of her food, a pasta-like dish slathered in white sauce that, depending on what species you are, could be either repulsive or decadent. “That’s horrifying,” she says after a moment. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for. Starfleet shut down the experiment; those responsible for it had fled, abandoning me at the edge of the Neutral Zone. That’s where I was found.”

Ilia shakes her head. “Saavik. That is a terrible story.”

“What happened happened; there is no use lamenting.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“That’s where we differ.”

Ilia gives her a very small smile. “I’m surprised you told me anything at all.”

“I’m surprised you even came over here to speak to me.”

“Surprised?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Saavik freezes after the admission, suddenly expecting Ilia to crow in delight that she did it, that she won her bet, but the thought doesn’t even seem to cross her mind.

“I’m free after Advanced Theoretical Mathematics,” says Ilia instead, standing. “It ends at 1530. If you would like to study together in the library, I’ll be there. I think… you have a class beginning soon?”

“I do. Thank you. Is your flex period about to begin?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for ensuring I did not sit alone. I suppose you may go back to your friends and claim victory. You did surprise me, after all.”

“Ah, but I didn’t make you smile,” says Ilia in response, “And until I do that -- I don’t want to claim the reward just yet.”

“Until,” Saavik repeats. It sounds like a promise.

Ilia gives her one more smile and turns away, taking her tray with her, and Saavik stares after her for a moment, vaguely stupefied.

Deltans are most illogical, but she realises that they are not, as she had formerly supposed, totally incomprehensible. She decides there is much she has yet to learn. She will meet Ilia in the library at 1530; she makes a note on her PADD so she will not forget.


	2. Pinching and Punctuality

2270, Autumn, Starfleet Academy Library

 

At 1529, Ilia places her bookbag down on an empty library table. It’s early and most classes have not yet ended, so she feels comfortably alone. She lifts her handheld mirror out, examining her lip gloss and slicking on another coat. “You look good,” says a young male Orion from behind her, flashing her a grin. She’s so surprised she didn’t see him coming, especially in the empty room, that before she can move sideways, he’s slipped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his chest. “I like it.”

Ilia doesn’t miss a beat, half-turning and rocketing her elbow into his neck. He cries out, and she spins to kick him solidly between the legs. “I’m not interested.”

He staggers backwards, and Ilia watches his recovery, fists clenched. The Orion’s eyes narrow and he takes a menacing step towards her. Ilia stares him down, slowly raising her fists. She’s analysing -- watching his feet move closer to gauge where his weaknesses are -- when a small pale hand reaches quickly around the large Orion’s shoulder. Within a second, he’s senseless on the ground.

 “Saavik,” Ilia says, half-breathless. “You’re punctual.”

 “Thank you. I try to be.” The Vulcan eyes the unconscious Orion sprawled out on the shiny white tile. “Should we report his behaviour?”

“No.” Ilia purses her lips. “I’ve tried. This is the fifth time this week something like this has happened. No action has been taken against any of those creeps.”

“The fifth time this  _ week _ ?” Both of Saavik’s eyebrows go way up.

“Deltan pheromones,” Ilia replies. “I suppose to the more sexually immature, they’re irresistible. Luckily, I’m  _ more than capable _ of fending off their advances.” The last part is stated empathetically, to remind Saavik she didn’t need her help in beating off the Orion.

“Nevertheless, something should be done about him,” Saavik says, not missing the emphasis but not seeming to care. “We can’t just leave him here; to do so would be more than a little suspect.” 

“Yes, we should just drag him off and leave him in a closet,” Ilia says sardonically.

“Why not?” Saavik asks, and there’s a tiny upturn, not quite a smile, at the edges of her lips. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we’re fully able to.”

“So you are legitimately suggesting we heft this young adult over our shoulders and-” 

“Why not? Nobody could argue he didn’t deserve this. It seems logical he meet with some form of punishment.”

“I like the way you think,” says Ilia, and she’s surprised to hear herself say it to a Vulcan. “Where should we put him?”

“The children’s fiction section is small and rarely browsed. I recommend we move him there and ensconce him with bookcases, but I recommend we do it soon, as people will be making their way over here in droves before long. Additionally,” she prods the Orion gently with a toe, “He might wake soon.”

Ilia smiles. “Seems rational.”

Together, they lean down and grasp the Orion under his shoulders, pulling him to his feet between them. It goes much more smoothly than Ilia had expected -- Saavik’s Vulcan strength comes in handy. They grasp him around the waist to keep him from falling over, but he lolls about as they walk, half-dragging him and half carrying him, to the farthest corner of the library. 

“Here?” Ilia asks, and Saavik nods. 

They dump him unceremoniously in a heap. “Now for the bookcases,” Ilia decides.

She pulls at one, but it won’t move. Saavik tries another. “They must be bolted down,” she deduces, kneeling fluidly to examine where they meet the floor. “It’s not visible.”

“Well, should we just leave him here?”

“You don’t think the security cameras will be checked, do you?” Saavik asks.

“No. And if they are, they will also have caught the fact that he attacked me.”

“And the fact that I nerve-pinched him. Vulcans are explicitly and specifically forbidden from nerve-pinching fellow students.”

“Well, fellow students are explicitly and specifically forbidden from sexually harassing,” Ilia returns.

Saavik’s eyebrow twitches. “Fair enough.”

She plucks a book off the shelf -- an Orion Script translation of the Terran “Goodnight Moon” -- and slips it into the unconscious student’s hands. “You know,” she remarks as she locks his fingers around it and tilts his head so it looks like he fell asleep reading, “It’s perturbing nobody noticed this altercation.”

“Not really,” Ilia says. She tilts her head up slightly. “You might not know, as a first-year, but there are certain places where students are more or less left to themselves. The library is one of them.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s what real life on starships is like. You won’t always have a reliable authority, or you’ll  _ be _ the reliable authority. You have to be able to single-handedly manage the species’ differences and conflicts. Teachers won’t always be able to do it for you. It’s an important skill…” Ilia trails off, imagines Saavik looking irritated, and ploughs forward. “I’m surprised you didn’t deduce it for yourself.”

“Well, now that you mention it, it does seem logical,” Saavik grudgingly admits, folding her arms across her chest. “I imagine that if things got too violent, someone  _ would _ have stepped in?”

“If they’d noticed. Since it’s still before 1600, most people are still teaching their classes.”

“The thought had not occurred to me until now, but I have only occasionally seen a supervisor in the library.”

 “Well, now you know why. Students are sometimes watched when it’s crowded, but not at times like now, when most people are still in class. ”

“While on the subject of class, we should study. It is, after all, what we came here to do.” 

“Well, fate had other plans,” Ilia says airily. “I had a table in the opposite corner; I was about to do some trigonometry. Would you like to join me there?”

“I would find that agreeable.”

“Good.” 

“Do you _believe_ in fate?” Saavik asks as they walk back across the library.  

“No. It’s a Terran figure of speech. My roommate taught me.”

“Interesting. I’m not sure I grasp figurative language.”

“You can learn.”

 Saavik nods. “Thank you for inviting me to study.”

 Ilia tilts her head and turns to her. “Do you usually sit alone?”

 “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You’re not at fault.” 

“I know.” 

They keep walking. “I’m the only Deltan here,” Ilia offers as she sits down again at her table.

“So you-”

“Know what it’s like, yes, to be the only member of one’s species. But I can’t imagine how it would feel to be half one thing and half another.” 

“It’s all I’ll ever know,” Saavik responds, “So I can’t give you a comparison.”

“It must be very difficult.”

“It is what it is.” Saavik sits down across the table from Ilia, keeping a reserved distance, and Ilia is forcibly reminded of herself during her first year at the Academy. As the only Deltan, she was never close or friendly with the other cadets. Many of them found her sexually attractive, but few ventured towards her with inclinations free of desire. She was never alone but was often lonely in spite of the crowds around her. She missed Willard Decker, her lover of 2 years, who had been stationed to Delta IV early in his Starfleet career. But he left without a farewell, and soon she let him fade to a series of memories in the back of her mind; experiences to cherish but never to dwell on. She was angry, hurt that he left so rudely, and that paints her recollections of all their interactions with an ever-present sourness. Her relationship with him was positive and negative, draining and intoxicating; it was an unusual love and a mostly pleasant one, and it inspired her, but regardless of what it  _ was _ , it is over. So she brushes the thoughts from her mind.

She takes out her PADD, navigates to page 283 of her digital textbook, and starts in on the first equation. Saavik, across from her, works silently and equally diligently, and the silence between them rests peaceful.


End file.
